Lyrics:
to New Orleans.
Chorus
Out of gas and out of luck and out of hopes and dreams,
Busted by the state police mile marker 118.
Judge said, "Son, they'll be
round
Old folks judge you by the clothes you wear
They'd swear you're a hippy if you have long hair
Young politicians fight for poverty
While people
round
Old folks judge you by the clothes you wear
They'd swear you're a hippy if you have long hair
Young politicians fight for poverty
While people
round
Old folks judge you by the clothes you wear
They'd swear you're a hippy if you have long hair
Young politicians fight for poverty
While people
round
Old folks judge you by the clothes you wear
They'd swear you're a hippy if you have long hair
Young politicians fight for poverty
While people
round
Old folks judge you by the clothes you wear
They'd swear you're a hippy if you have long hair
Young politicians fight for poverty
While people
round
Old folks judge you by the clothes you wear
They'd swear you're a hippy if you have long hair
Young politicians fight for poverty
While people
round
Old folks judge you by the clothes you wear
They'd swear you're a hippy if you have long hair
Young politicians fight for poverty
While people
round
Old folks judge you by the clothes you wear
They'd swear you're a hippy if you have long hair
Young politicians fight for poverty
While people
blindness
Who would think that I'd be judged
To be held within this hell
No one to hear or answer my cries
Is this where I rot for life?
Bound within
I can tell by the way you speak
The way that you look at me
I know that you've heard this
Line many times before
With somebody as fine as you
Them
blood
No more older sluts and inverted stunts
Arrogance of murder
I'd be upstate for thirty months
All I need is a dirty judge and a virgin muff
We run
It's almost punishing to look
It hurts so bad and add the fact
That I'm the type of guy
That rather judge a cover by it's book
This is gonna require
thank 'em
Y'all know if this was 1992
I'd probably shank 'em still, I chill
Calm and cold like Oran "Juice" Jones
Be careful with your karma
You might
bicycle to work when the gasoline price rose
He'd judge with no pretense, fish on the weekends
Each morning, get up, do the Pledge of Allegiance
Never
You don't love me
If you loved me you wouldn't be callin' me Tuesday
You'd be callin' my name, Shanice, not fuckin' Tuesday
You call my phone,
the things I've wasted, and that I'm a part of the equation. It's corrective lens and chipped glass. Rubber bullets flying by. It's someone drowning in
.jpg/220px-Voivod_-_Kronik_(Album_Cover).jpg "Kronik")
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